Unhappy Is He To Whom

Memories And Possibilities Are Even More Hideous Than Realities.

Nothing Matters, But It's Perhaps More Comfortable To Keep Calm And Not Interfere With Other People.

Toil Without Song Is Like A Weary Journey Without An End.

Wise Men Have Interpreted Dreams, And The Gods Have Laughed.

Two Widely Dissimilar Races, Whether Equal Or Not, Cannot Peaceably Coexist In The Same Territory Until They Are Either Uniformly Mongrelised Or Cast In Folkways Of Permanent And Traditional Personal Aloofness.